Bedtime Story
by Pureauthor
Summary: /FE8/ 'Tell me that one.' She told her mother. 'The one about the two enemy soldiers who fell in love.'


Title: Bedtime Story

Genres: Romance

Rating: PG

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Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Thunder rumbled in the distance as the mother tucked her daughter into bed. Satisfied that she was comfortable, the mother smiled softly, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Mommy?"

She ran her hand softly over her daughter's cheek. "What is it, dear?"

"What about my bedtime story? You haven't forgotten, have you?"

At this, a chuckle leapt merrily from the mother's throat. He eyes twinkled with delight, and she settled herself into a worn wooden chair by her daughter's bedside. "Of course not. How could I? You remind me of it every single night."

Her daughter smiled sleepily, hugging her ragged doll close to herself.

"Well then, what story would you like tonight?"

The grin on her daughter's face spread wider. "The one about the two enemy soldiers who fell in love."

Another laugh. "Now, how many times have I told you that story already?"

"Well, that's 'cause it's my favourite!"

The mother half-closed her eyes, and nodded. "All right, then." Settling herself back and folding her arms across her lap, she began the recounting of her tale.

"Once, there was a war. It was an awful war that last a long, long while, and many people all across the continent died. Many people ended up being drawn into the fighting, whether by their own will or not. And before the war ended, there were many hard fought battles."

"Now, on one such battlefield, there was a young girl. She had joined the army with dreams of glory and honour." The mother nodded slightly. "The poor lass; she had no idea what she was getting herself into. When the time came to fight, she was terrified. She didn't know how to fight properly. She would have been killed."

"But she didn't die, right, mommy?" Her daughter grinned, happy with the insight she had into the fate of the young female soldier.

The mother shook her head, a nostalgic smile etched across her lips. "No. No, she didn't. Just as the actual fighting was about to sweep over her, he appeared."

"A young soldier from the opposing side, riding up to her on a gallant steed." She chuckled lightly. "At first, he didn't even realize she was a soldier – he tried to take her by the hand and lead her away from the battlefield to safety. His warmth, his kindness, the gentleness of his actions – and before she knew it, she was standing by his side, fighting alongside him."

"Isn't leaving your own side a bad thing?" The daughter asked, knowing the answer she would receive.

"Yes, it is. It tugged at her heart every time she was forced to fight against those from her own country. At times, she was so sad she thought her heart would break."

"That sounds painful."

"It is." The mother reached over, grasping her daughter's hand lightly. "But whenever she felt sad or scared or lonely, she would go look for him, and then he'd speak softly to her, comforting her, and placing his arm around her shoulders protectively. And after that, she wouldn't feel quite so bad anymore."

"She loved him, right, mommy?"

"Love?" The mother paused, nodded slightly. "Yes, I suppose it was love. As time went on, she found that he occupied more and more of her thoughts. The way his eyes would twinkled ever so slightly as he smiled shyly at her, the way he would gently wash any wounds she had received in battle, the way he smelled like spring-"

"How does someone smell like spring?" The daughter asked, a puzzled smell on her face.

"Well…" The mother paused, her head cocked to one side. "Have you ever stood in the garden after a light rainstorm, just enough to make all the leaves and grass and flowers damp, but not enough to soak everything through? That's what spring smells like."

"Oh… I love that smell." Her daughter murmured.

"And she did, too. And the more she grew to love him, the more she began to feel that she wasn't worthy of his love. After all, what was she? And he was strong and he was brave and he was kind, and he was just, and –"

"Just what?"

"Hm?"

"He was just what?"

"Sorry, I forgot." Her mother patted her daughter on her forehead. "'Just' means that when you see something bad, you want to do everything you can to make it right and good again."

"Oh…" Her daughter digested this new information with wide eyes. Then she turned back to her mother. "And he was like that?"

"Oh, indeed he was. And since he was strong and brave and kind and just, why would he care about a scared little girl like her? The more attention and care he gave, the worse she would begin to feel."

"But she loved him!"

"Indeed she did, indeed she did. And she was terrified that he didn't love her back." The mother pursed her lips. "Finally, one day, the war came to an end. That night, there was a joyous celebration. The killing and fear and pain would stop and peace would reign again. And as the party wore on, she resolved that she would tell him; and what happened, happened."

"She approached him – he was sitting by the sidelines, not really partying like the others, simply enjoying the feeling of peace and victory. As she got nearer, she began to feel more and more nervous. Finally, she stood right in front of him, and he looked up at her with a gentle smile, asking her what the matter was."

Her daughter was silent, waiting with bated breath for the story to continue. "And then what happened?" She finally prompted.

"And then she told him." The mother said simply. "About how she felt, about how it had frightened her so badly to think that soon they would have to part ways, and about how what she wanted – _really_ wanted, more than anything else in the world – was to be with him, to spend her life by his side."

"And then what happened?"

"And as she stood there, having just spilled out her heart to him, he looked back at her, smiled that gentle smile that she had knew and loved so well, and spoke two words: Me too."

"And? And after that?"

The mother chuckled softly. "Well, few people can say for sure. Why don't you imagine what happened yourself, sweetheart?"

Her daughter snuggled herself deeper into her bed. "I think the two of them got married and lived happily for ever and ever."

Leaning over, the mother planted a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead. "I think so too." Then, softly, as her daughter was just starting to drift into slumber, the mother stood and left the room.

As she entered her own room, she glanced up to see her husband standing at the window, silently observing the storm outside.

"I thought you would've been in bed by now."

"Mm… I was waiting for you." He shrugged, turning his head slightly to face her. "How's Melina?"

"She's fine. Just went to sleep after her bedtime story."

"Oh? And what story did you tell her tonight?"

Crossing over, she wrapped her arms around her strong, brave, kind, just husband. Her eyes closed, she leaned in close to him, breathing in the scent of springtime. And unbidden, a smile blossomed on her face.

"Ours." Amelia said to Franz.

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